Little Mrs Cutting
by BobwhiteBobwhite
Summary: He took away her father, her brother, and her identity. She became what the butcher wanted under the threat of his knife. Can a young stranger called Amsterdam reawaken his sister beneath the sweet, subdued housewife that Bill Cutting has spent years creating?
1. Chapter 1

_Aileen fell to the ground next to her father's body. The blood and snow seeped quickly into the thin fabric of her skirt, soaking her knees. Old "Priest" Vallon, the man she had been raised by-- believing all the while that he was invincible-- stared blankly into the sky._

 _Aileen's little brother had gotten there before her, no doubt hearing his last words. She looked at him with guilt and fear. Guilt for not being able to protect his bright, innocent eyes from witnessing the murder of his own father. Fear for what the future held for the two of them now that Vallon was gone._

 _She pulled the young boy into her arms and squeezed him tight, feeling the shoulder of her dress grow wet from the few tears he'd cried. But the anger inside him would never allow him to cry again._

 _"Give the boy to the law. See he gets a good education," a voice said. Just hearing it made Aileen's blood boil._

 _"You'll do nothing to him," Aileen growled, throwing herself at the men attempting to grab her brother, giving him a chance to escape. The Natives grasped her arms and held her instead._

 _As she saw her brother's little head of brown hair bobbing away through the crowd, she never would have thought that it would be the last time she'd see him as he was._

 _"And the girl?" they asked._

 _Aileen trembled but hid it with a scowl as she faced the man who killed her father._

 _Bill the butcher. A tall man with dark hair and a thick mustache to match. He had one glass eye with an eagle and a shield painted on it. The other eye examined her very soul, displeased with what it found there. His mouth was pulled into a sour frown. There was a fierceness about him that terrified the seventeen-year-old._

 _He looked her over and stood so close she could feel his breath on her face, still slightly ragged from the fight._

 _"I know what happens to girls all alone on these streets," he growled, "No amount of wit or strength inherited from your father could prevent it."_

 _He nodded to his men, who let the young woman go. She barely kept her footing. Bill placed a rough hand beneath her chin, taking in her dark brown hair, fair skin and blue eyes. "I'll be damned if I let the daughter of my most honorable competitor go to such a fate when I am so capable of preventing it."_

 _Aileen raised an eyebrow at him, not sure what he meant and not liking the sound of it. As he continued to gaze at her, his face gained an almost imperceptible softness. "Here is where I show you mercy. If you are obedient and wise, you may come to call this day a blessing."_

 _"Aileen Vallon is no more!" Bill announced, "From now on you will know her as my wife, Mrs. Emily Cutting! And I will hear no more about Vallon's daughter nor his Dead Rabbits!"_

 _He turned back to the young woman now trembling openly before him. "That includes you, my dear."_


	2. Chapter 2

Emily woke with one of Bill's strong arms around her. It was a rare occurrence, since he barely spent his nights at home and when he did, he left without waking her.

The young woman turned in his grasp to look at the old butcher.

Age had changed the color of his hair and the tightness of his skin. His charisma and his power remained forever. In fact, if she was blind, Emily might've believed him to be immortal.

As she watched him, his eyes snapped open, looking all around the room before settling on his wife's face.

"Good morning, my dear," he said, in the same low gentle voice he used when talking to her.

"You're still here," Emily pointed out with a smile.

Bill nodded, the corners of his lips curling upward slightly. He was a busy man with things to do and people to visit. Emily knew where he spent most of his nights but she never protested or asked questions. Accepting that her husband knew best had always been the easiest path.

"I spend far too much time away from you," Bill said, "You might take a lover if I'm not more careful."

His eyes glittered teasingly.

"Don't be ridiculous," Emily smiled, placing her hands on his chest, "You're already more than I can handle."

Bill laughed and kissed her forehead. The night before, as with every night he spent with Emily, he had started out gentle and focused, growing more rough and animalistic as the night wore on but remaining thorough and giving.

Emily had a hunch that he treated all his other bedmates differently.

Bill sighed and sat up, his back to Emily.

"Will you stay for breakfast?" Emily asked him, already knowing his answer.

"No, I…" Bill stopped, "What is this?"

He grabbed a scrap of paper off of the nightstand and held it up to her.

She squinted at it and shrugged, pulling the sheets up over her naked breasts. "Just something some man was handing out by the docks. I didn't even look at it, just shoved it in my pocket and walked on by."

"You know I don't like the look of this, Emily," Bill said, "My own wife walking by the docks taking papers from strange men?"

His voice was calm but she had been married to him long enough to know that he was angry.

"I promise I was only walking by, Bill. I don't often go anywhere near the docks as I know how it upsets you," Emily said calmly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He turned, grabbed her wrist and placed his face close to hers, nearly pressing their noses together. "You're my wife, Emily. And I love you, in my own way. But unlike you, I have not forgotten that you're the daughter of an Irishman, and I don't even trust you as far as I can throw you. Do as I say or you'll see just how far that is."

He released her with a push, got dressed quickly and took his leave.


	3. Chapter 3

_The butcher closed the door behind them and removed his hat. The twirled ends of his mustache rose slightly in a comforting grin as his new bride turned to face him._

 _"This is your home," he said, motioning to the large upstairs apartment. It was clean and warm, nicer than any place Aileen had ever lived. Yet her insides seemed to shrink at the thought of living her entire life at the mercy of her father's murderer._

 _"What I have to give belongs to you, Mrs. Cutting," the butcher spoke again, folding his arms and looking kindly at her._

 _Aileen mustered up the courage to look at her captor. Or husband, she supposed. He was regarding her with some kind of interest that she couldn't read._

 _She bowed her head. "Thank you, sir."_

 _"Oh, Emily," the butcher held up his hands and shook his head._

 _He took a step toward her and held her arms gingerly. "I'm your husband. You call me by my first name."_

 _The young woman gulped and nodded. "Thank you… Bill."_

 _He grinned and pointed. "Water closet on the right along with the bedroom. Best part of being a butcher's wife: you'll never want for fresh meat. And you could do with a fine meal, my bony bride."_

 _She could tell he was trying to make her laugh but his smile paralyzed her. He had not yet even wiped her father's blood from his brow. With the sweat and blood staining his clothes and body, he looked like the devil himself._

 _Bill observed her fear with something like amusement and pulled her closer to him. His good eye looked her over while his glass eye glittered blindly, almost threateningly._

 _"Are you afraid of me?" He asked._

 _Aileen stared up at him. "I fear you more than I've feared anyone. I have seen what you are capable of, Mr. Cutting. You're a powerful and dangerous man. Only a fool would fail to recognize it. To fear you is simply common sense."_

 _"I think that's the most I've ever gotten you to say," the butcher said._

 _Aileen pursed her lips and tried to look anywhere other than Bill's face._

 _"I'm not an evil man, Emily," Bill said softly, his hot voice tickling her ear, "You'll come to see that truth before the end."_

 _He kissed her pale forehead and then left without another word._


	4. Chapter 4

Even after fifteen years, Emily still found herself surprised by the space allowed her by everyone in the Five Points.

Those who were once her friends could only look at her with pity as if she were nothing more than the butcher's prisoner. Everyone else backed away when they saw her coming, for no good could come of upsetting Bill Cutting's prized jewel. Even looking at her in a way the butcher didn't like was an offense punishable by death or maiming.

There was only one person in the Points who didn't treat her like the Ark of the Covenant.

"Mrs. Cutting!" Jenny Everdeane waved with a smile, coming to walk beside her. She didn't take her arm, since even Jenny had felt the butcher's wrath for such an action.

"Jenny," Emily nodded, acknowledging her.

"What brings yeh out to the square?" Jenny asked in the same Irish drawl that Emily had gotten rid of so well, "I haven't seen yeh so long, I was afraid yeh'd died."

Emily chuckled. "Wouldn't that have been nice?"

Jenny laughed, tossing her head of red hair and squinting her blue eyes.

"No, I'm only out to get some air," Emily said simply, "The Lincoln-lovers are having their parade tonight and I want no part of it."

Sometimes Emily pretended so well, Jenny wasn't sure if she was pretending anymore or if she'd truly fooled herself into thinking like Bill.

"Well," Jenny said, "Don't be such a stranger. I'm always around."

The two of them shared a knowing glance. Jenny knew what it was like living under the butcher's roof, for she herself had done it for years at the request of Emily herself.

The look Jenny gave her was one of deepest sympathy. Emily smiled back to let her know she was fine.

Jenny curtsied and Emily nodded to her as she took her leave. Mrs. Cutting took one more turn about the square and made her way home. As she turned the street, a voice called out, "Morning, Mrs. Cutting!"

Emily was almost shocked to hear someone calling her, so much though that she stopped in her tracks. She looked and saw a familiar face.

Old Monk McGinn tipped his hat to her as he strode by. She only glared at him and sped up her pace. He had been the one rifling through her father's pockets as he lay dead in the square and she never forgave him. What he meant by greeting her as an old friend she had no idea.

Bill was there when she got home. He had his usual band of cronies sitting nearby as he butchered a large pig.

He turned his head and didn't smile when he saw her. "Emily, my love, where've you been?"

His group stood up and nodded to her murmuring her name before sitting back down.

"Oh, just getting some fresh air before the streets get filled up with the smell of Lincoln supporters," Emily said, removing her gloves.

The butcher laughed loudly but not genuinely, "There's my girl," he said as she approached him and ran her hand softly under his chin.

Emily looked toward their guests. "Gentlemen," she said softly as she left the room and headed upstairs to her room.


	5. Chapter 5

_"Go," Bill said quietly, "Make your own way in the world and don't speak of this to anyone."_

 _Tears formed in Emily's eyes but Jenny stood stalwart and brave. Emily didn't know how she could take it. Her family dead, a baby ripped from her womb, and now being turned out of the place she had called home for several years._

 _"You mean it?" Jenny asked quietly._

 _"I can't stomach girls that have been cut up," Bill said, disgust in his eyes, "It's more than I can bear. I can't hardly look at you no more."_

 _Emily sniffled. It was her fault this had happened to her dear friend. She had begged Bill to take the starving twelve-year-old girl in. She had pretended to be ignorant of the affair that began a year ago. It all might've been okay if she had done something different._

 _As if sensing her thoughts, Jenny reached out to her. But Bill slapped her hand away._

 _"You'll not touch her," he growled, "She's no common Irish whore like you. She's not your friend. She's miles above where you will ever be. Now go on before I throw you out myself."_

 _Jenny didn't say another word. She turned on her heels and marched out, leaving Emily sobbing with her face in her hands._

 _Bill held her, stroking her dark hair. "She was never meant to stay forever, Emily."_

 _Emily looked up at him. "What is wrong with me?" she whimpered._

 _Bill frowned. "Explain yourself."_

 _"Ten years I've been your wife," Emily said, "Kept your home clean, catered to your every whim, and yet you've never so much as undressed me. But you would go after Jenny and every prostitute in town…"_

 _She'd barely gotten the words out of her mouth before a slap from Bill sent her reeling._

 _"You speak too fucking boldly of what you know nothing about," Bill pointed threateningly at her._

 _Emily sat down on a bench, stared at the butcher and forced herself not to cry again._

 _Bill knelt before her and took her hand in both of his._

 _"A man has needs, Mrs. Cutting," he began softly, "I regret to tell you that what I do with those women, even what I did with Jenny, appeals to those animal instincts. You are different."_

 _Emily frowned and waited for him to continue._

 _"Your father was the last honorable man I knew," the butcher, "He left you behind and you are my prize. Hard-won and precious. Would you ask me to so defile what I treasure most?"_

 _The sting of her cheek forgotten, Emily kissed him and ran her fingers through his hair as he knelt on the floor, grasping her waist._

 _She ran a finger along his collarbone and unbuttoned his shirt. He stood and hoisted her up, carrying her to the bed she had not yet shared with him._

 _He undressed her quickly with an ease that could only come with practice. He gazed at her and ran his hands softly over her bare chest and abdomen._

 _"You're beautiful," he said softly, grinning at her shaky attempts to remove his belt._

 _He removed the rest of his clothes and kissed Emily all over. Her entire body quivered in anticipation before he buried himself inside her with a sigh._

 _Throughout the night they explored one another until finally when the sky was just beginning to lighten again, they collapsed in exhaustion._


	6. Chapter 6

Emily came down the stairs and was met with the possibly more respect than the American flag itself, as always.

The butcher sat at the table playing cards with his usual set of friends. Two young men stood nearby, perhaps to pay Bill for reasons Emily chose to ignore. One she'd seen before, Johnny Sirocco was his name. A nice enough Irish lad with an almost auburn color to his hair. He fancied Jenny, Emily remembered, and made no attempt to hide it.

His mate was one Emily had never seen around here before. He was tall with long hair and hard blue eyes. He looked at her when she entered the room and Emily couldn't help but be reminded of someone. His face was like a dream lost the morning after.

"Ah, good morning, my love," The butcher said, motioning his wife forward. She obeyed and he kissed the back of her hand.

"What brings you down? Shopping?" he asked conversationally.

"Oh, no, Bill," Emily said with a grin, "Just to watch you destroy these thugs at cards."

This was met with polite laughter from the table while Emily took a seat nearby in her favorite armchair. Johnny looked at her almost expectantly, as if hoping she'd notice something.

Notice he certainly got from Bill who blinked and said, "You know my wife, John. Why don't you introduce her to your friend there?"

Johnny gulped. "Uh, this is Emily Cutting. She's Bill's wife. Mrs. Cutting, this is…"

"Amsterdam, ma'am," the other young man said, holding out his hand, which Emily shook, all the while wondering where she could have seen the boy before.

"Continue, John," Bill said, turning in his seat to face Amsterdam.

"Touch more than her hand and you'll lose both yours," Johnny recited.

"Right," Bill said, "Now come closer. Close, John, I ain't gonna bite. Close."

As Bill and Johnny had some whispered conversation, Emily continued to sneak glances at Amsterdam. There was something maddeningly familiar about him that she couldn't quite put her finger on. Those bright blue eyes were like…

"And you," Bill said loudly, "What was your name again?"

"Amsterdam, sir," the boy said.

"Amsterdam, I'm New York," Bill said, "Don't you never come in here empty handed again. You gotta pay for the pleasure of my company."

Johnny and Amsterdam made their way out of the building quietly. Emily noticed Amsterdam glance over his shoulder at her with a look that read as disappointment. But it was only an instant.


	7. Chapter 7

_Aileen knew she was in trouble as soon as she saw Bill appear through the crowd. She half-heartedly tried to hide her face and sneak away, but she had already accepted her fate._

 _"Emily, darling," the butcher's voice rang out like the sharpening of an axe._

 _"Why, Bill!" Aileen said sweetly, "I didn't look to see you here!"_

 _"No," the butcher said, "Nor I you."_

 _He stood before her, sizing her up with a stony gaze._

 _"The docks are no place for a lady of your station, Mrs. Cutting," he said with an almost imperceptible growl, "I suggest you get home before you breathe in too much Irish immigrant filth."_

 _Aileen nodded and kissed him on the cheek before she left, hoping it would soften his mood before he came home._

 _It was evening before the door to the apartment opened and closed threateningly. Aileen began to shake before she even saw the butcher. She tried to hide it as she turned to face him._

 _She stood near the window while he stopped in the middle of the room and stared at her. He sucked on his teeth and raised an eyebrow at the young woman._

 _"You can't hide nothing from me, Emily," he said finally, "I'm your husband, I know you. And I know who you were looking for."_

 _Aileen blinked but said nothing. He took another step toward her and she awaited his strike. But he didn't raise his hand. His glass eye shone in the evening light._

 _"Have I been...unkind to you, Emily?" he asked finally._

 _"No, Bill," Aileen said quietly._

 _"Have I ever left you cold or hungry?" the butcher asked._

 _"No, sir," his wife replied._

 _"Then why do you insist on trying to escape?" he asked, "What reason have I ever given you to leave me?"_

 _Aileen hung her head. "None, sir. You've only ever been a good man and a good husband to me."_

 _The butcher lifted her chin. "There is nothing left of that old life you're trying to return to."_

 _Tears formed in the young woman's eyes._

 _To her surprise, Bill weaved his rough fingers into her hair and kissed her. He moved from her lips to her neck and back before stopping and asking in a low and husky voice, "Who are you?"_

 _He kissed her neck again as she gasped, "Emily Cutting. Your wife."_

 _The butcher chuckled and Emily wrapped her arms around him as he lifted her up and carried her away._


	8. Chapter 8

"What's that word?" Bill asked, pointing at the newspaper.

Emily sat in the corner watching the butcher at his work while Amsterdam and Johnny reported their work.

Although she couldn't read very well, Emily had gleaned enough information to know that Amsterdam and his group had stolen a body from a ship and sold it to medical scientists.

"A low thing to do that to a body," McGloin said, "Low."

Emily never much liked McGloin, even in her younger days. He'd been one of the first to turn coat after Priest Vallon died. Emily had always thought of him as a coward since then, but then she supposed he was just trying to stay alive. Rather like herself.

"Why?" Bill asked, "They could've left that ship with nothing. Instead, they made The Police Gazette, a periodical of note."

"A body's supposed to stay beneath the earth wearing a wooden coat until the Resurrection," McGloin declared.

"These two are a pair of bog-eating sons of Irish bitches, same as you, and it don't seem to bother them none," Bill said, "But then maybe they don't share your religious scruples."

"Maybe they're just a couple of Fidlam Bens," McGloin said.

No one spoke for a moment. Then Amsterdam laughed. "I've been called a lot of things, mister, but I ain't never been called…"

"Fidlam Bens," McGloin repeated.

"Fidlam Bens. Right," Amsterdam said, "Well if I knew what in the hell that meant, I'd be inclined to take offense."

Emily chuckled quietly. The butcher smirked at her.

"A Fidlam Bens is a fellow steals anything, dead or alive, because he's too low to work up a decent lay for himself. Count that careful, Bill."

Bill chuckled.

"Now, chiseler. If you'd said 'chiseler,' now there's a word I understand. Now is that what you're calling us?" Amsterdam asked.

"I can think of a number of things to call you, boyo."

"Right. But I asked if you was calling us chiselers," Amsterdam asked shortly.

"Supposing I am?" McGloin asked.

"Well then we got business," Amsterdam replied.

"That we do," McGloin agreed.

Emily sat back in her seat as the fight began. As Amsterdam removed his coat, she thought she caught a glimpse of something. A medal like one her father used to have.

She looked at Amsterdam and suddenly his familiarity made all too much sense. His bright blue eyes were the same that peered out of her own brother's head years ago. He had changed so much in the journey between boy and man that he was barely recognizable. Emily wondered if he remembered her as well, but she dared not ask.

Before Amsterdam and McGloin finished their fight, Emily left the room with Bill's eye following her curiously.


	9. Chapter 9

_"Hurry, Michael," Aileen called to her dawdling brother._

 _The boy trotted up to his sister's side, balancing the open book he'd gotten in his arms. The bookseller was cleaning out his shop and since the book had gone untouched for years, he'd given it to the boy as he walked by._

 _Michael couldn't read, but he'd been staring at the pictures all the way home._

 _"What's this?" he asked, pointing to a drawing of an old city._

 _"Let's see," Aileen said, reading as well as she could the caption beneath, "It's 'Am-st-er-dam.' Oh, Amsterdam is a city."_

 _Michael stared at the picture for a little while longer before turning the page._

 _"Come on, Michael," Aileen reminded him, "Papa will be wondering where we are."_

 _A rock hit the street beside them, startling them so much the boy dropped his book._

 _"Go back where you came from, you filthy Irish urchins," a voice cried._

 _A swarm of food and rocks sailed toward them from a source Aileen didn't stop to see._

 _"Run, Michael! Run home!" she cried._

 _Before she escaped herself, she scooped up the boy's book and ran with it._

 _She reached the safety of old brewery to find her brother crying in the arms of their father._

 _"What happened?" Father asked._

 _"Natives," Aileen explained._

 _Priest didn't react, but patted the boy's back to comfort him._

 _"Michael," Aileen said, approaching him._

 _He looked up, his eyes still wet._

 _Aileen held up his book. "Yeh dropped this."_

 _Michael laughed and took the book, wiping his eyes._

 _"What's this then?" Vallon asked._

 _"The bookseller gave it to him," Aileen said._

 _"Ah. Well what do you say to your sister then, eh?" Priest asked the boy._

 _"Thank you, Aileen," Michael said._

 _Aileen kissed the boy's head and lifted the cloth from her basket to show her father the bread they'd bought._

 _Priest gazed at his daughter with a smile. "You get to be more and more like your mother every day."_

 _Aileen smiled back and sat down beside her brother, reading as well as she could anything he asked._


	10. Chapter 10

"Two mornings in a week I wake to find you here," Emily said softly, looking into the mirror at the reflection of Bill in the bed behind her, "If you're not careful, I might insist you never leave me again."

She smiled playfully. The butcher only blinked at her. He stood up and got dressed and then came to stand behind her, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist and breathing in the scent of her hair.

"I'm a busy man, Mrs. Cutting," he reminded her, "If I spend too much time away from home, it is only because I'm doing what I have to do to take care of you."

"I wasn't criticizing you, Bill," Emily clarified.

"I certainly hope not," Bill replied, an edge to his voice.

Emily turned and looked meekly up at him through her eyelashes. "I know of the hard work you do. You are one of the most selfless and patient people I know. Can you blame me for wanting you all to myself?"

Bill kissed her softly. And then he squinted at her almost suspiciously. "You never took such an interest in my work before. It's nice to have you out more often."

"Well, I've never been one to miss a good hanging," Emily replied sarcastically, "Besides, I've been huddled up in here too long. I'd like to see the work you do and help if I can."

"It wouldn't have anything to do with the company I keep?" Bill asked, his voice suddenly rough.

"What do you mean?" Emily asked.

"You don't have your eye on one of my associates? A newer one perhaps?" Bill asked, folding his arms and staring at her as if trying to read her mind.

Emily folded her arms and stared back.had he caught her looking at Amsterdam a little too long? Did he suspect him of being the son of Priest Vallon?

"Why don't you say exactly what you mean, Bill?"

"I've seen the way Amsterdam looks at you," Bill said, "Like a dog waiting to be fed scraps from the table. Have you given him reason for hope?"

Emily threw her head back and laughed, mostly out of relief. "Oh Bill, for a moment I thought you were serious. Since when have you known me to have a taste for dewy-eyed sprats?"

The butcher's shoulders became noticeably less tense and he smirked.

"I don't think he means anything by it, Bill," Emily said, placing her hand on his chest, "He's just an Irishman. He has different manners than a gentleman like you."

Bill nodded. "You speak true, my dear."

"The only one for me is you," Emily assured him.

Bill gazed at her and then chuckled. He kissed her forehead lightly and said, "We've got a hanging to see."


	11. Chapter 11

_"Mrs. Cutting!" Jenny cried, surprised by her unexpected visitor._

 _"Jenny," Emily greeted her. She went to hug the young woman, but Jenny backed away with a flash of fear in her eyes._

 _"Forgive me, ma'am," Jenny said quietly, "I wouldn't dare."_

 _Emily shrugged. She then pulled a small golden necklace out of her dress pocket. She held it out to her friend._

 _"A gift from Bill," she explained, "A peace offering, if you will. He hopes the two of you can still be friends."_

 _Jenny looked at the necklace for a moment before taking it._

 _"You'll pass in safety," Emily said, "You'll always have a place in our home if you need it, and you'll pay no quarter to the butcher."_

 _"What about you?" Jenny asked._

 _"What?" Emily asked._

 _Jenny placed the necklace in her own pocket. "It's all very well that the butcher has no hard feelings," she said, her eyes growing wet, "but I want to know if his wife could ever forgive me for what I've done."_

 _"Oh, Jenny," Emily said, taking the young woman's hands in hers, "There is nothing to forgive. You have always been my dearest friend and I hope you always will be."_

 _Jenny breathed a shuddering sigh, blinked her tears away and smiled._

 _"May the Lord bless you, Mrs. Cutting," she said quietly._

 _"And you, Jenny," Emily returned, releasing her hands, "until we meet again."_


	12. Chapter 12

"Fifty notches, Mrs. Cutting," a voice called.

Emily blinked and turned. It was old Monk McGinn speaking again. He was leaned against a nearby wall, squinting at her through the sunlight.

She remembered his rough hands pilfering through her father's pockets and her face hardened as she asked, "Excuse me?"

He approached her. "That was the price. Your father said I could only marry you once I had fifty notches."

Emily folded her arms and glared at him. "I was a child. I never had a part in any such thing."

"I think you might've agreed, though," Monk said, "under different circumstances."

"Well," Emily said shortly, "circumstances as they are, McGinn, I could have your bog-eating tongue hanging from my door in a matter of minutes if I wanted. So you'd better have something else to say and say it quickly."

A look of surprise came over Monk's face and he laughed. "You put on a good show, Mrs. Cutting. If it wasn't for that mouth of yours, I would never guess you were the daughter of Priest Vallon. Bill really has you trained, doesn't he? But he hasn't taken all of you away. No, not yet."

Emily rolled her eyes and waited for him to continue.

"Wise man, your father was, in some ways," McGinn said, taking something out of his pocket, "I took this from his pocket for safekeeping. He said to give it to you when you lost your way."

Monk placed whatever it was into her hand, saying, "The country is changing, Mrs. Cutting. Where will you stand?"

As Monk walked away, Emily looked at the treasure he'd left behind. As soon as she saw the deep red leather sheath, she knew what it was.

She dared not take her father's most prized dagger out of its cover here in town. But she remembered it from the few times she'd seen it growing up. It was a glistening silver dagger with a dark handle. There were words etched into the blade: Confutatis maledictis Voca me cum benedictis.

"While the wicked are confounded, call me with thy saints surrounded," her father's voice echoed in her ears.

"McGinn!" she called after the burly street fighter.

He turned. Emily shrugged at him and said, " _Sixty_ notches."

Monk chuckled and nodded before turning and leaving.

She hid the dagger away quickly and hurried home.


	13. Chapter 13

_Aileen watched the butcher carefully as he began to eat the supper prepared for them. As soon as she saw how carefully and attentively he ate, she knew she was in trouble._

 _He lifted his cup but stopped to look at her. "Emily, why are you looking at me like that?"_

 _Aileen shrugged silently, her heart pounding. The liquid was so close to his lips. If he even took one sip it would be done. "Sorry, sir."_

 _The butcher lifted his drink again but stopped once more. Aileen's heart dropped into her stomach._

 _The butcher looked at the small cup of wine for a moment before throwing it at Aileen, who barely dodged._

 _Cutting stood angrily, throwing the table out of his way to get to his wife, who had grabbed only a steak knife to protect herself._

 _This he easily wrenched out of her hand as he threw her to the ground._

 _"You… slippery Irish whore," Bill said breathlessly, holding her down with his knees on her arms, "You think I don't know poison when I smell it?"_

 _Aileen kicked and fought to no avail. She spat at the butcher who then placed his own knife at her throat._

 _"I'm going to kill you, Bill Cutting," she growled, "Someday I'm going to kill you just like you killed my father."_

 _Bill placed his free hand around her neck. Aileen braced herself for whatever painful death was coming her way._

 _To her surprise, Bill threw the knife away, laughed, and released her. He collapsed backward to sit against the wall, still out of breath._

 _Aileen sat up and looked at him. He motioned for her to come sit next to him, which she did warily._

 _"You really are your father's girl, aren't you?" he asked with a grin, "It's ok. It's an admirable quality."_

 _"I hate you," Aileen whispered._

 _"I might be falling in love with you," Bill replied._

 _The two of them looked at each other trying to catch their breath._

 _"You'll be the death of me, Mrs. Cutting," Bill said, "One way or another. I know. I only ask that you don't ruin my good opinion of you. If you kill me, I want you to come at me straight on. No poison or sneaking around. Face me like your father did. Brave girl."_

 _He leaned in and kissed her softly. She kissed him back almost hungrily, straddling him and placing her hands firmly on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, tracing his hand across her back._

 _Their lips parted. Bill looked at his young wife with one eye glistening._

 _"I'm not going to kill you tonight, Mr. Cutting."_


End file.
